


Poison

by Ecrivaisseur



Category: Damien (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, The Omen - Freeform, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecrivaisseur/pseuds/Ecrivaisseur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's poison to him. They both know it, though he still can't seem to help being intoxicated by her sinister scent. It rots him to the core, turns every part of what little good his soul has left into a dark, bottomless pit of black evil. </p><p>And he loves every moment of it. Loves every moment of having her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison

Poison

A One-shot

"And w-what's your name again?"

He finds himself stuttering when he's around her. It's not that he doesn't remember her name, he just wants to hear her say it again. He's only met her twice, both times for only a few minutes and only in the past two days, and yet he already find himself drawn to her. There's an air of mystery to her that pulls and picks at his innate curiosity. He's a war-photographer and journalist, after all; a yearn for discovery has always been a trait of his, and he's certainly desiring to uncover everything he can about her. 

But it's more than just mystery that he finds attracting himself to her. It's the _darkness_ ; like a poison flowing through the air that seems to weigh heavy on his shoulders whenever he's near her. It stirs up a blackness inside of him, too, and intrigues him even more.

Even now, as the words slips like clouds of air from between her lips and hit his face, he's drawn to her. 

" _Ann Rutledge_. Not very good with names, are we, _Damien_?" 

She mentions his name. It's one he's never quite been fond of - Damien isn't the most common, usual names for boys - but as it escapes her mouth, he finds himself proud that she's said his name. He doesn't know why, he can't quite place it inside of him. He just does. And he accepts that.

It takes him a second to reply. 

"I'm better with faces than names." 

"And mine?" she asks, with just enough inquisitiveness to make him question himself, and Damien's eyes are forced to trace the etching that make up her face: ebony, vicious eyes, muted red lips, curled auburn hair that falls gracefully onto her shoulders, light wrinkles that pull on the edges of her face and eyes. No one could deny that she's beautiful. Out of all the attractive, good-looking women out there that he's met in his lifetime, she's by-far the most stunning of them all. "Do you recognize my face?" 

He gulps. "Yes." 

She smiles at him. "Good. I'm glad. Now may I come in?" She looks at him with slightly raised eyebrows, and clutches her purse. Damien blinks, completely forgetting they were both standing in the doorway of his loft. Not a minute earlier, she'd knocked on his door, and he'd answered it, but as soon as he'd swung his door open to find her standing there, in the pale, hallway lighting, he had completely fallen lost into her piercing aura. 

"Uh, yes. Yes you may," he quickly steps out of her way, and she glides into the room with ease. Her eyes catch his for a brief second as she slides past him, and he can feel her penetrate his soul. With just one look, she's making herself comfortable inside of him, having no intention of leaving. Based on the expression painted across her face as she passes by, she knows exactly what she's doing. 

Knows exactly the power she is holding over him. 

Time freezes for eternity as she steps by him, before, in a flash, she's vanished. He leans forward to find her standing in his living room, admiring the photos spread across his desk. They were photos he had taken while he'd been overseas; photos of the anguish, suffering and misery he'd observed there, which he'd been working on just before she'd shown up on his doorstep. 

"These are wonderful." A hand admiring a glossy photograph in front of her, she looks up at him as he enters the room. "You have quite a talent." 

"Thank you. Uh, why are you here. . . Miss Rutledge?" He doesn't want her to leave - far from it - but he has to ask her intentions for being there. It's the normal thing to do, and he tries to mask the nervousness in his voice with a newfound confidence, but it is futile. She immediately senses his worry, he can see it in her eyes, though she chooses to ignore it. 

"You know, this is rather a rough neighborhood for such a  _handsome_ face as your own. Someone with as much talent, skill, and, of course, money could afford to live in the finest apartment in New York City. You could be looking down on Central Park from Fifth Avenue, or gazing over lush trees on Park Avenue. So why choose the decrepit loft of a run-down warehouse in a broken district to call your home?" 

He'd always had a great distaste for the lavish mansions and luxuries of wealth he had grown up with, but otherwise Damien hadn't really thought about it. It had just been a natural feeling to him. He'd chosen this apartment because it had been the furthest thing he could find from that life, though he quickly comes up with a different answer, in a hope to satisfy her. "I prefer a simpler life." 

"Hm. Interesting. . . well, the truth is, Damien, that I've been watching you. For all your life, but more. . . _closely_ the past few days since your return from Israel. You're a very special young man." She turns to him and, setting her purse down on the table, walks over to him in long, graceful, calculated strides across the room. Every footstep she draws nearer to him, something inside of Damien rises. A sharp feeling in his stomach that forces its way up to his spine and through his skin. A shiver. An excitement. 

He's seen much misery and horror in his life, been in many a situation that would frighten even the most steadfast person, and so he isn't scared easily. However, in that very moment, as Ann Rutledge stalks towards him, her cold eyes fixated on him, her lips barely parted into an opening, like a beast hunting its prey, Damien can feel every bone in his body ringing with terror. He's never been more frightened in his life as she merely walks towards him. 

But there's something about this terror. Its a terror he  _wants to feel_. 

"I don't understand," he mutters, "what's so special about me?" 

She smiles at him as her body draws up against his, less than an inch separating the two. He tries to step back, but finds a wall behind him. She's cornered him. "Haven't you noticed that air of darkness lingering around you? Noticed how bad things seem to happen to anyone who's around you? Kelly? The professor? Your governess? _Your parents_?" As every words departs from that opening in her lips, she pushes herself closer and closer to him, and now his body is crammed as close as it can get to the cement wall behind him.

"How do you know about those?"

"As I said before, we've been watching you for quite along time. _I've_ been watching you." 

"If you know that, then why are you here? Shouldn't you be afraid to be around me?" 

She lets out a small laugh under breath. "There's very little in this world that scares me, and death is most certainly not one of them. On the contrary, all I  _want_ is to be around you," she brushes her long fingers against his cheek, like an affectionate grandmother would do, only without the affection. However, she goes a step further than that. _It's seductive_. Her mere touch sends a sinister feeling running inside of him. It's tantalizing. He doesn't try to resist it. She leans in and whispers into his ear. "There's a darkness about you. We both know it. I want to unleash it." 

Before he realizes it, her lips have met his, and he can feel an evil pouring from her and fueling into him. 

All his life he's felt an emptiness inside of him. His lost childhood, his destroyed family, his failing relationships. . . he isn't quite exactly sure what's caused it, but it's certainly been there. A hole inside of him that for years he's tried to fill. He thought doing something productive with his life, making a change in the world, would do that. But it never did.

Until now. Every single corner of his body is now filled with this blackness that Ann has imparted onto him. She's filling every part of his body, and he loves every moment of it. 

She pulls away after a second, but he culls her right back in. He wants more. As he sees it now, an unquenchable thirst for whatever it is she put inside of him has now risen up in him, and he isn't sure it'll ever be satisfied. He certainly will never be satisfied unless he can have all of her. 

Once more, she pulls away after a few seconds. "The darkness is feeding you, Damien. I can see it making itself home inside of you. But this is just the beginning. Far greater heights of this can be reached," her hands slips down from his shoulder, where it had been resting, and find its way to his own hands. She wraps her fingers around his, and starts to back up, dragging him with her. "You can be satisfied for all eternity. _Just follow me_." 

He wants it. More than anything he's ever wanted in his life. He can't seem to bring words to his lips, so he merely nods. She smiles again. 

She leads him to his bedroom. The run-down, dimly-lit room now seems like a king's bedchamber as she pulls him into it. She sits him down on the soft cushions of the mattress, and rips open his shirt, displaying his bare, naked chest. She licks her lips. 

Their eyes meet. He nods again. 

Undoing the top button on her dress, his gaze targeting her intently, she closes the door behind them. 


End file.
